


Hesperides

by lettersbyelise



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, And a lot of Greek island imagery, Birthday Sex, Blow Jobs, Developing Relationship, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry’s birthday, M/M, Masturbation, Rimming, Romantic dinner dates, Summer Vacation, but it’s definitely there, just a little bit of sex, relationship discussion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 08:36:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15659649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettersbyelise/pseuds/lettersbyelise
Summary: Draco Malfoy is not the kind of man to lavish gorgeous Greek holidays on hisflings.So Harry doesn’t really know what to make of his invitation.





	Hesperides

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bixgirl1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bixgirl1/gifts).



> Dear **bixgirl1** , what started off as a ficlet about dream holidays ended up as a little birthday gift to you. My apologies :) I hope you like it <3
> 
> Many thanks to the lovely [JGogoboots ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JGogoboots/pseuds/JGogoboots) for her thorough beta!

They said the light in this place was unlike anywhere else. Harry knew what they meant; the setting sun tenderly bathed the small village in peaceful golden hues. Nestled in the crook of thyme-strewn hills, the pattern of white-and-blue houses was only disrupted by the delicate brush strokes of pink bougainvillaeas.

It wasn't the first time Harry had been at the beach. _A_ beach, at least. Even with the Dursleys, as a child during summer hols, he’d been allowed to play among the sea-rounded pebbles on the shore, the muddy green waters of the English Channel licking at his feet, the sun harsh and white against his rapidly-darkening olive skin.

Here, the light brought to mind, quite appropriately, the lucky glow of Felix Felicis instead.

The house was perched a distance away from the leisurely activity of the village, and from the balcony Harry could hear the laughter of young children. He could hear the rhythmic rushing of the waves on white sand, hypnotic and loving.

Like Draco had been, earlier this afternoon, when they’d hid from the midday heat in their bed. _Happy birthday, Scarhead,_ he’d whispered with a laughing glint in his grey eyes before dipping his head and licking, slow and sure, at Harry’s swollen rim. He’d slipped a finger in, Harry’s hole still loose, the benefit of a long holiday where they had time to fuck several times a day and night. When Draco’s mouth kissed the head of his cock, his pink tongue playing at the slit, Harry was already so hard he was panting, the sweat breaking on his brow as much a result of the heat as of Draco’s talented attentions. Then Draco had pushed a second finger in, the middle one grazing Harry’s prostate, and he had come in Draco’s mouth and across his cheek after only a few strokes, fingers tight around the sheets, crying out his name. Afterward, Draco had kneeled between his open thighs, bracing himself with one arm on Harry’s side. He’d wanked fast and rough above Harry until he tensed, trembling and splattering Harry’s chest and stomach with warm, sticky come.

This was the first of Harry’s birthday presents.

There had been two more that afternoon.

The rounds of hot, fevered sex took another colour in the surreal beauty of this location, nothing like the fucking they’d done up until now in London or, on one unexpected but nonetheless enthusiastic occasion, Manchester after a four-days Auror stakeout. Here, in this unfamiliar white house where time was suspended, with their naked bodies entwined, thrusting against and into each other–their fucking bordered on lovemaking.

Harry swallowed against a tight throat. It would not do to linger on uncertainties. Not when the soft heat of the setting sun caressed his skin as gently as a lover. They hadn’t made any plans beyond the destination. _It’s your birthday soon,_ Draco had said at the end of a grueling week of work when they’d sat and ordered pints at the Leaky Cauldron. _We could go on a trip. Anywhere you’d like to go?_ Harry had laughed and said, _Greece,_ because Draco was surely pulling his leg. The idea that he would actually book a trip for two was utterly preposterous. So was the idea of Draco actually wanting to spend time with Harry beyond their hours as partnered Aurors and the passionate nights they’d shared more and more frequently. It was the only reason why he had confessed a dream of his so readily. Because it could never happen. It could never happen with _Draco._

Yet here he was, the quiet waters of the Aegean stretching as far as his eyes could see, turquoise and glittering pink-gold in the sunset.

Draco appeared on the steps of their house, rubbing his wet hair with a towel, wearing nothing but perfectly fashionable Muggle swim trunks.

“Is this what you’ve done all afternoon? Gaze mournfully at the sea instead of joining me for a swim? I wouldn’t have guessed your penchant for Byronic sentimentality, Potter.”

“No?” Harry smiled slowly as Draco approached. The infuriating tosser looked even better on this island than he did in London, the soft light magnifying the paleness of his skin and hair and eyes. He reminded Harry of the statues of young gods they had seen at the Museum of Acropolis, the day before they Apparated here.

“What is it, then?”

“Nothing.” Harry dropped a kiss on Draco’s naked shoulder, salty and fresh from his swim. He turned to gaze back at the view. “It’s just… surreal.”

_It’s just surreal to be here, with you of all people. It’s surreal to be here, butterflies bursting in my stomach every time you even look at me._

He didn’t say any of it. Draco still gave him a knowing smile.

The beautiful bastard always knew how to read between Harry’s hesitant lines.

 

****

 

That night, they had dinner at a _taverna_ tucked away in the fresh, clean-scented air of a lemon grove. A _bouzouki_ played a cheerfully nostalgic melody in the distance. Black and white kittens with pink noses and cunning little faces meowed for scraps of food. The small table was laid with a paper tablecloth and plates, big and small, containing a selection of foods each more appetizing than the next: a heart-shaped tomato sprinkled with olive oil and oregano; vinegared octopus and piping-hot cheese; fresh salads scattered with black, juicy olives; a grilled sea bass, its fins woodfire-charred; a basket of warm bread. Draco’s hand found its way across this simple feast and rested lightly on Harry’s. They smiled at each other.

It felt like a date.

“Why are you doing all this?” Harry asked. Draco had always been in his element with the unstated, the unsaid. Harry being Harry, he felt more comfortable with straightforwardness.

“Because it’s your birthday?” Draco answered slowly, as though talking to a small child. Of course he had to be circuitous about this. Why Harry even bothered with Slytherins, honestly–

“You know what I mean. We’re… we’re coworkers. We’re coworkers who occasionally enjoy a spectacular shag. Coworkers, shagging or not, don’t go on holidays together. We’re–“

“Is this what we are?” Draco interrupted. Calm, serious, steady. For a second, Harry marveled at the adult he’d become, he who had been the most intolerable child.

“I don’t know what we are.” It was the truth. Under the shelter of the lemon trees, it was easier to face it than in London or even in the bright daylight of this island.

“At the risk of being presumptuous, I’ll tell you what I think we are,” Draco said, the warm weight of his hand grounding Harry in the moment despite the hammering of his heart. “We’re coworkers, yes. We’re friends. If you want us to be.”

Nothing of what Draco was saying was news to Harry. And yet there was something thrilling in hearing the reality of it in Draco’s posh, perfectly articulated words.

“And…?”

Draco gave him a look that said he knew exactly what Harry was doing, and would indulge him anyway.

“And–lovers. Yes?”

Harry let out a small, breathless laugh. “That part was kind of obvious.”

“Not obvious enough to keep you from seeking confirmation.”

Harry gently removed his hand from Draco's under the pretense of picking up an olive from the nearest plate. When he lifted his eyes, Draco was gazing at him thoughtfully.

This–being _here_ changed things between them. Harry just hadn't realised how much, until now.

“When we go back to England–”

“We will still be all of this.”

“–I want to be with you.”

Draco's eyes widened a fraction, as if Harry had caught him off guard.

“Me too,” he told Harry. Then, with a smirk: “I thought my intentions were clear. I don't lavish gorgeous Greek holidays on my _flings,_ Potter.”

“Good,” Harry smirked back, finally treading familiar ground. Verbal sparring was what they'd always done best, angry teenage jabs that had slowly morphed into their very own brand of foreplay. “Because I'm no fling, Malfoy. I'm here to stay.”

Draco's smirk curved into a grin, bright and genuine.

“Perfect,” he said, his sarcastic tone softened by the warm crinkling of his eyes. “It was my plan all along.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are lovely!  
> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/lettersbyelise)!


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